


the world stops at zero

by unluckyones



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:56:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12744222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unluckyones/pseuds/unluckyones
Summary: on the inside of the left wrist resides a counter. f each step taken, the number counts down and marks the moment when two soulmates meet.jongin didn't believe in soulmates, or rather, he was conditioned not to.





	the world stops at zero

**Author's Note:**

> I deadass wrote this at like 3am but the prompt was lit and I wanted to step out of my comfort zone

Soulmates.

Jongin sat perched on the railing with a lit cigarette resting between the loose grip of his fingertips. He frowned, peering into the darkness and pouring rain and scoffed at the mere thought of it.

 _Soulmates_.

It was It was a ludicrous thought; to think that there was someone out there destined to be _‘the one’_. But Jongin had never had the time to dwell on the idea of soulmates. He was far too busy with work to focus on anything else.

The exhale that left his lips was white and stark against the cityscape and where he would usually look up to stare at towering buildings, he looked down at his wrist. He tugged the sleeve of his left arm down.

 _879_.

The way the numbers was reminiscent to that of a timer counting down the seconds to when a bomb would detonate. At least that was how Jongin thought of it. The digits glowed faintly, a soft red that was crisp around the edges. He had last remembered the number being somewhere close to three thousand; but that was a while ago.

Checking the number on his wrist not something he did often, as he had more important things to worry about rather than counting down the moments — the steps taken — to when he would _finally_ meet his _soulmate_.

It wasn't that Jongin didn’t believe in love; because he did. He loved the feeling of being able to live more than comfortably; amongst the richest of men with lavish possessions. He loved living above the city. He _loved_ seeing the fear in people’s eyes before they died. He loved his job. He loved having _power_.

Jongin slid off the railing. He dropped his cigarette to the concrete and stepped over it with the heel of his shoe. It was late in the evening, but his night was yet to begin.

The streets were crowded. They always were during this time of night and Jongin weaved through the clusters of people that spilled from the footpath and into the streets. He caught glimpses of people with intertwined hands, matching zeros on the inside of their wrists and perhaps if he was alone he would have rolled his eyes.

Wet pavement served as a reflective surface for the neon lights that hung overhead. The lights were always on and the night was always young in the City that Never Slept. Jongin stepped over hues of pink, yellow and blue. His destination for the night was the hotel by Fifth Avenue and he still had a long way to go.

There was an itch under his skin, one that he couldn’t quite seem to shake. Jongin sighed and rubbed at the skin of his wrist, now growing warm from being irritated. He looked down.

 _542_.

Something stirred in Jongin’s stomach. He didn’t like it.

Jongin navigated through lonely alleyways and winding roads and felt for the gun he had tucked into the holster underneath the weight of his coat. He thought that perhaps, it was from the way he had been raised. To be a killer. Nothing more. Nothing less. He had been taught to be rid of the feeling of human attachment — dependency — and that _soulmates_ were nothing more than empty words. He wondered when he started believing it.

Jongin was taught to keep his wrist covered and ignore the desire, the _temptation_ to check it.

 _398_.

Jongin remembered his first roommate at the training facility. He was quiet kid. Quirky. Kind. He had a warm smile that contradicted himself. The gentle pull of his lips was a complete 180° change from how hard he trained. Of how insanely _good_ he was at everything. Jongin remembered his name, too — Zhang Yixing.

He also remembered when things fell apart.

‘Fresh Meat’ was they would call newcomers and they would enter the facility every few months or so. Jongin had never seen the numbers on Yixing’s wrist, but had noticed that he had started to act strange when the newest arrival had entered the training arena.

He was a tall, lanky kid with tamed black hair that was swept away from his face. ‘ _Oh Sehun_ ’ he said as he introduced himself and his eyes lingered on Yixing for a second too long. Jongin made no comment on it.

It was later that evening when Jongin found Yixing facing the wall. It was compulsory to wear a black band to cover the numbers on their wrist but for the first time, law abiding Yixing had broken the rules. The black band was discarded on to the floor and it was at this time he had noticed Jongin’s presence.

Yixing looked paler than usual, but he still seemed calm. Jongin’s eyes were drawn to the bright ‘0’ glowing on the inside of his left wrist.

“It’s the new kid,” Yixing said calmly, “Sehun,” he explained. “He’s my-” Yixing paused. Inhaled. Exhaled, “My soulmate.”

“How do you know that?” Jongin had said then. “That could have been at zero for ages. Maybe you’re just excited because there’s fresh meat-”

“That’s not it,” Yixing ran his fingers over the zero before he dropped his hand back to his side, “Maybe I’m going crazy, but I could _feel_ it when I saw him, Jongin. I just… knew. And when I came back here to check the number — it was at zero.”

He saw the way that Sehun and Yixing gravitated toward each other. Romance was forbidden in their profession, but what they did in their own time wasn’t Jongin’s business. They would train together, sneak out past curfew to talk and over time Jongin had to pretend that he didn't see the hickeys that peeked out from Yixing’s shirt.

And soon enough, they were found out.

Jongin returned to his room one day to find Yixing’s side of the room empty. He didn’t ask any questions, but heard the whispers in the corridors, in the training room, the locker room, about how the Soulmates were no more. But Jongin wasn't sure if it was figurative or literal.

 _274_.

Adrenaline ran thick in Jongin’s veins. He breathed a little deeper, steps a little quicker. There was a natural high that came from going on missions like these and he would get a bigger rush once he completed them. He loved every bit of it.

 _200_.

Jongin drew to a stop. It was quieter now. He stood in an alleyway, away from the noise and bright lights and was left staring down at his wrist. Two hundred. He had never paid attention to the red, glowing numbers, so why now? He stepped forward once _199_. And then another. _198_. The furrowing of his brows deepened, as did the frown on his lips. He had more important things to worry about than numbers counting down.

The hotel on Fifth Avenue was always busy with traffic. He entered through the fire escape around the back and ascended the flights of stairs. His destination was the ninth floor. His wrist demanded for attention — attention that he refused to give and continued to climb up the winding staircase.

It was at the fourth floor when he heard the echo of what was recognisable as a whistle. The whistle was then accompanied by measured footsteps that had Jongin’s guard up. He ran his fingers over his gun and evened out his breathing.

 _50_.

The person whistling seemed to be descending the stairs. At this point, they were sure to cross paths and there was a new rush of adrenaline in Jongin’s system. The beating of his heart was loud in his ears but he kept his steps light.

The whistling stopped and so did Jongin. He was at the sixth floor now.

 _“Birds flying high, you know how I feel,_ ” A voice began to sing. It was smooth. Velvety. A shiver ran down Jongin’s spine.

 _“Sun in the sky, you know how I feel._ ” The steps grew closer. Louder.

 _“Reeds driftin’ on by, you know how I feel,”_ The voice echoed off the walls and filled the fire escape.

 _“It’s a new dawn. It’s a new day. It’s a new life. For me."_ Black patent shoes entered Jongin’s vision.

Jongin drew his gun and held it out in front of him as the singing stranger turned the corner. Black dress pants and a white blazer greeted him.

 _“And I’m feeling,” _The man standing in front of him raised a brow, _“Good,”_ __ he finished singing and leaned back against the wall casually once he caught sight of Jongin, “Hello.”

“Good evening,” Jongin replied.

“The evening is indeed good,” he hummed and pushed off the wall, completely aware of the gun Jongin had raised at him, “You’re not going to shoot me, are you?”

“That depends,” Jongin cocked his head, “Byun Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun had laughed then, light and airy as he took another step toward Jongin. “You know my name,” he says as observation. “But that is only expected as someone in your profession, to know the names of people they’re going to kill.”

“I do know your name,” Jongin said, “And soon enough, your name is the only thing people will have to remember you by.”

“Oh, I would at least think that people would remember me for my voice,” Baekhyun said as he leaned against the railing, directly in front of Jongin, “I have been told that it is quite pleasant.”

“Very,” Jongin said with thin lips. His wrist itched.

“Although, I do also know your name, Kim Jongin,” Baekhyun began, “And despite your efforts, I don’t think that you will be able to kill me tonight.”

Jongin pressed the gun against Baekhyun’s chest. If he pushed hard enough, it would have the latter falling down six flights of stairs, “I’m incredibly good at my job. You shouldn’t be so confident.”

“Oh, but I _am_ ,” Baekhyun said and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“And why is that?”

Baekhyun brought his hand up to curl slender fingers around Jongin’s neck. He pulled Jongin closer and with his lips pressed against Jongin’s ear Baekhyun whispered, “Have you checked your counter recently?”

Jongin inhaled sharply with wide eyes. He stepped back as if touching Baekhyun was like being burned and his back met the wall.

Baekhyun smirked at him, head tilted coyly, almost mocking, “Go on,” he said, “Check.”

There was a slight tremble in Jongin’s movements. His fingers caught the edge of his sleeve and began to pull it up. His breath hitched, a sinking feeling in his chest. A single digit glowed before his eyes.

It felt wrong, to be meeting under circumstances like this. But Jongin didn’t believe in soulmates.

“I _dare_ you to kill me,” Baekhyun taunted, “Soulmate,” he said as he held his wrist up so that Jongin could see the number written on the inside of his wrist; the one that matched Jongin’s.

Jongin raised his gun.

__0._ _

**Author's Note:**

> say hi to me on twitter: @sezhangs


End file.
